


meeting

by jedormis (dottie_wan_kenobi)



Series: Dickkory Soulmate AU Verse [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Banter, Bisexual Bruce Wayne, Bisexual Clark Kent, Bisexual Diana (Wonder Woman), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Celebrities, Father-Son Relationship, Flirting, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, POV Bruce Wayne, Pre-Relationship, Young Bruce Wayne, Young Clark Kent, Young Diana Prince, Young Dick Grayson, but like... thoughts, like they're all 20 somethings, that are very tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/jedormis
Summary: “Bruce Wayne,” she says, voice wrapping around the individual sounds in the most captivating way. “I am Diana Prince. And you?”He almost says something, something like ‘you clearly know my name’, but then Clark is replying, sounding timid and embarrassed, “Clark Kent, ma’am.”“A very nice name. And a very nice accent. Where are you from?”“Kansas, ma’am.”She smiles, and it’s genuine, like she actually cares that Clark Kent is a country boy. Then she reaches out and puts a hand on his (rather large) bicep. And then (and this is where Bruce’s brain nearly fries), she turns to Bruce. Her attention is on him, but she’s keeping Clark here, too. They’re both looking at him, Diana with interest and Clark like he’s trying to figure something out about him. He can’t say he’s unaffected by either of them.“Your son, Dick, just told me something rather interesting.”





	meeting

**Author's Note:**

> kjdklfjkldsjklsaj wrote this in two days and sorta went over it. if something is really super wrong/dumb please tell me but be kind <3

If there’s one thing Bruce and Dick can agree on, it’s that galas are terrible.

Dick describes it like this: the women want to eat Bruce, the men want to kill him, the elders want to wield their unwanted opinions like throwing knives, and poor Dick is caught in the middle. The women want Bruce, so they go through Dick. The men hate Bruce, so they in turn hate his son (and call him all sorts of things, and then find that hmm, Wayne Enterprises is no longer interested in working with them). The elders think Bruce adopted Dick for all sorts of incorrect and morally wrong reasons, and love to pinch his cheeks and say, low and like they actually care, “Just say the word, and I can get you away from him.”

But they _have_ to go. _Have_ to keep up appearances. _Have_ to smile when they walk in, and mix and mingle and talk very Seriously about very Stupid things. That’s what Dick says, anyway.

He’s not too old for Bruce to hold his hand as they walk into the ballroom, thank god. The lights of cameras flash and blind them, and his son hides his face in Bruce’s side. It could be an act, as Dick is more than used to bright lights, but he’s been feeling pretty upset lately (he wants nothing more than to steal Koriand’r away from whatever’s causing them so much pain and fear, if only to make his son feel better), so maybe it’s not. Either way, Bruce tucks him a little closer, and smiles his Dumb-Witted-but-Fatherly Smile at the people near the door.

He can’t help but immediately notice a tall, striking man watching them. He’s wearing a press badge, shoulders tense like he doesn’t feel like he fits in here. Bruce swallows instinctively, something in him almost purring like Selina at the sight of a broad chest and hair just long enough to tug on, but turns his focus back on Dick. He can think about the man later.

They have rules for galas. Dick doesn’t have to stay by his side, but he does have to stay where Bruce can see him. If someone is upsetting him for any reason, he can tell them he’s feeling ill, and come back to Bruce. If he wants to sit down, Bruce will join him. He’s not allowed to drink any of the alcohol or any drink from anyone but Bruce or the bartender, but only if he sees it be served, or eat the shellfish (he’s allergic), but he can eat anything else, as long as he does so in moderation. No “circus tricks” unless he’s really, really bored, but in the event that he’s bored, he should come to Bruce first. And no matchmaking (this is the one that upsets Dick the most).

“Dick?” Looking so small, so dashing in his suit, Bruce can _feel_ the tension he’s causing in the room. Some of it is because of the boy’s past and “less than ideal” status, and some of it is because, more than once, Dick has caused all sorts of trouble at galas. When talking to people who hate him gets tiring, his favorite thing to do is hang from the chandeliers or do handstands until he can’t feel his toes.

Also, the eyes of the reporter are still on them, and that’s it’s own tension. Reminds him too much of Vicki Vale, and her incessant need to hear Dick say, just once, that Bruce is an evil, cruel, abusive man who Dick hates with his whole heart. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop the eyeroll bubbling up in him. She’s not even here, and she’s pissing him off. Typical, really.

He quirks a smile, pulling away from his side. Despite their hatred for these things, he knows how to act and look in front of Gotham High Society. He’s also very adamant that he not look like a baby, even though he’s only ten years old and is undeniably short. “I’m good, Bruce. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

Bruce trusts him implicitly. He also trusts that if Koriand’r’s emotions get the best of Dick, he’ll be able to tell, or at least get him out of there as fast as possible. “Alright, good. Are you going to wander tonight, or will we be a matched set?”

Dick looks around, eyes locking on something behind Bruce. He peeks over his shoulder, and finds a very beautiful woman with a girl around Dick’s age. Neither of them look familiar to him, but that can be remedied. Probably by Dick.

“...Wander,” he says, eyes slowly moving back to him. “I see a potential new friend.”

Trying very hard not to smile, he shakes his head. “Alright, well, have fun. And remember, no matchmaking.”

“Oh, come on! You’re totally interested in her!”

“And you’re too young to know anything about that.”

“Not really. It’s not that hard to see, anyway.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. You looked at that reporter guy the same way.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Go talk to him.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna go talk to that lady and her daughter or whatever, and tell her all about how amazing you are.”

“You’ll be breaking a rule, and then neither of us will get ice cream.”

This doesn’t faze Dick at all. “Alfred made cookies. I don’t need ice cream.”

“Well maybe I do.”

“Well maybe you should change the rule.”

Their eyes meet, Dick’s chin raised in defiance, until finally Bruce breaks. He could’ve lasted forever, but like Alfred says, sometimes Dick has to win. Infusing as much of himself into a Brucie move as he can manage, he ruffles Dick’s hair and says, “Go on, but you better focus more on making a friend for yourself than for me.”

“Yessir,” Dick teases, scampering off. His mood lifting soothes Bruce somewhat, though he still goes straight for the wetbar. He can’t play Brucie without a drink in hand, despite the fact that he doesn’t really drink. Much.

An overeager waiter gives him a flute of champagne, and he takes a slow sip, turning slightly to watch his son approach the two women.

The older of the two looks like she may be Bruce’s age. He’s hardly twenty-five, one of the younger people in the room, and his skills at guessing someone’s age work better with the more wrinkled crowd. As far as he can tell, she could be his age, or she could be twenty years older. Either way, she looks beautiful, with long and sleek dark brown hair, her ponytail swishing gently. She’s smiling, teeth just slightly crooked in a very attractive way. Perfection is overrated anyway.

Her lips are full, and my god would he like to kiss her. For some reason, clearing his throat does nothing to dispel the thought.

Her companion looks a lot like her, skin tone slightly paler, eyes greener. She’s taller than Dick, her face a bit rounder than either the woman’s or Dick’s. He notices that her ears are pierced three times on both sides, which is something Dick has asked him about more than once. (For the record, he hasn’t said no. If Dick wants to pierce his ears, then he’s free to do so. He just has to wait until he’s older, or Alfred will be mad, and neither of them want that.)

They both smile down at his son, who is facing away from him, replying to him much more kindly than most others do here. Bruce doesn’t read their lips...much. He catches the woman introduce herself as Diana Prince, the girl as her daughter Donna, and ask a few small talk questions, one of which being who he came in with.

Diana’s eyeline floats up to him when Dick presumably name drops him, and he gives a jaunty little wave. The corner of her mouth quirks up gently, and she checks him out, obviously paying attention to his arms and torso and waist. It’s a familiar sensation, being watched this way, but it flusters him this time. Heat crawls up into his cheeks, and his stomach flips in a funny way. To make matters worse, something like _interest_ is flicking into his emotions, but not his own. One of his soulmates’. And while this woman has the same name as one of his soulmates, the odds of them being one and the same are so small, he won’t entertain it. Which means Kal-El or his Diana are interested in someone _not him_. Which, huh. Is not a thought he likes.

His stomach twists again, but it’s different this time.

Fuck, he needs to get a hold of himself.

Unfortunately, he can’t gain his bearings fast enough to check her out in return (and enjoy the muscles and curves her dress is hugging) before she looks back to Dick, who’s peeking at him with the smuggest grin he’s ever seen on the boy.

Maybe they will go out for ice cream, Bruce ponders, stepping a bit away from the bar. And maybe he’ll order two of Dick’s least favorite flavor, orange sherbet, and harp on him about not wasting food. It would serve him right.

When he glances back at the trio, Diana is talking to someone else nearby, but Donna and Dick are still chatting. He reads her say something about winter in Paris, which might explain why he doesn’t know them. He knows _everyone_ in Gotham, everyone in this ballroom even, except for Diana, Donna, and the reporter.

Hmm. He’ll look into it later. For now, he has to be Brucie Wayne, which means mixing and mingling and definitely not punching out anyone.

As he stops near a table seating four women older even than Alfred, his eyes catch the reporter’s, and he thinks, _I definitely_ can _flirt, though._

They drift towards each other, the reporter with much more obvious intent, and meet somewhere in the middle. Bruce feels eyes from every direction: the old women; many of the wives of his colleagues; his colleagues themselves; little Timothy Drake, sitting by his mother’s feet; as well as the wait staff. It’s no secret that Bruce Wayne is, as the tabloids say, “equal opportunity”. It’s just rarely seen in real life, and obviously these people are interested.

The reporter brings him back to reality by sticking out his hand and introducing, “Clark Kent.”

Bruce can easily tell Clark already knows who he is. Still, he takes the handshake. “Bruce Wayne. I have to ask… what’s a reporter from the Daily Planet doing here? So far from home?” His smirk is just a shade obvious.

Clark replies easily, “Metropolis is only a short train ride away, actually. I’m sure you know that, since you were just there a few weeks ago.”

“What? Don’t want me tainting your city?” Unfortunately a sentiment he’s heard many times.

A thick eyebrow rises curiously, head tilting. He’s very much in reporter mode right now. “I’d heard Gothamites were dramatic.” He laughs, and Bruce swallows again. Goddamn, he thinks. “I somehow doubt the most philanthropic man in Gotham could taint Metropolis. Though I would like to talk to you about something….”

Bruce takes another sip. It’s barely anything, but he’s great at making it look like he’s just really enjoying it. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve been researching a politician named Roger Lobdell, and I am aware that the two of you had a meeting recently, in his offices. If you’d like, I mean… if you’re amenable, I’d like to ask you some questions about him?”

Roger Lobdell…. A vile man that Bruce had hated talking to more than he hated a lot of things. “Well, what’s he done?”

That flusters Clark a little bit, a very softly pink blush on his cheekbones making Bruce want to do… well. Things he shouldn’t do in polite company. Clearing his throat, Clark says, “There’s reason to believe he’s sexually harassing his employees.” Amongst other, worse things. “So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

Clark’s eyelashes flutter briefly as he stares at Bruce and his Brucie Wayne smile. “Are you open to answering a few questions about him?”

“Right now?”

“Or whenever is good for you, Mr. Wayne.”

He leans in a bit, enjoying the way the other man’s eyes widen. “Any time is good for me, Mr. Kent. Though please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne… sounds so _formal_.”

“Bruce, then,” Clark says, voice slightly pitchy. “Is now a good time?”

He wants to say yes. He wants to take Clark back to a side room and find out what that chest feels like. He wants to go home and hide. Instead, he puts on a smile, and shakes his head minutely. “Actually, I’ve got to keep an eye on my son, and I don’t want him to hear the sorts of things we’d have to talk about. Could we reschedule?”

“Of course.” Clark is courteous as they decide a time to meet, and a place. Lunch time on Monday, at a cafe in Metropolis.

When Clark tries to meet closer to the middle, claiming it’s unfair, Bruce simply says, “But Metropolis is only a short train ride away.”

He snorts delicately, accepting the teasing with a light shining in his eyes. Eyes that peer over Bruce’s shoulder and stay there long enough for him to notice (which is admittedly a very short amount of time). When he looks, he sees Dick, still talking to Donna, but seated at one of the tables now. He gives Bruce an absent-minded thumbs up, but never even looks his way.

Turning back, he prepares himself to go into a Tipsy Brucie Ramble Session about Dick (said boy is the one who gave it it’s title), but finds that Clark is grinning at him, a little awkwardly. “Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

Bruce’s smile falls immediately. What? Things were going well. What happened? “W-What? Why? I thought we were getting along well…?” It doesn’t come off as flirty as he hoped.

There’s no time for a reply before Diana, the beautiful woman from earlier, is stepping up to their side smoothly. Bruce is assaulted on one side by her sweet-smelling perfume, and on the other by Clark’s cologne. Something in him that’s weak in the face of attractive people is positively melting.

“Bruce Wayne,” she says, voice wrapping around the individual sounds in the most captivating way. “I am Diana Prince. And you?”

He almost says something, something like ‘you clearly know my name’, but then Clark is replying, sounding timid and embarrassed, “Clark Kent, ma’am.”

“A very nice name. And a very nice accent. Where are you from?”

“Kansas, ma’am.”

She smiles, and it’s genuine, like she actually cares that Clark Kent is a country boy. Then she reaches out and puts a hand on his (rather large) bicep. And then (and this is where Bruce’s brain nearly fries), she turns to Bruce. Her attention is on him, but she’s keeping Clark here, too. They’re both looking at him, Diana with interest and Clark like he’s trying to figure something out about him. He can’t say he’s unaffected by either of them.

“Your son, Dick, just told me something rather interesting.”

He fights his instinctual panic down. Dick would never tell anyone about their night jobs, but he certainly has all kinds of other stories to tell, ones that could cause unwanted trouble with the elder members of Gotham’s High Society. Laughing, he asks, “And what might that be?”

“That you have my name.”

Clark immediately straightens out, eyes widening a little bit, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Oh my _goodness_.” She says nothing to either of them, simply raises an eyebrow. Leaving the ball in Bruce’s court.

“That’s true,” he finally agrees, not sure where this could possibly be going. There are many different scenarios running through his mind, but none of them are viable or desirable or both. “Diana is a rather common name, though, so I don’t--”

“I have your name as well. And a second name, which was of great interest to Dick.”

Heart in his throat, he meets her eyes and doesn’t look away. She’s daring him to do something, he thinks, noticing the way her jaw is the slightest bit tense. Or maybe she’s nervous about this. “I assume he told you I also have a second name?” At her nod, he proposes, “Shall we see if they’re one and the same?”

“On three?” She smirks. He nods, captivated and nervous and possibly a million other emotions he wants nothing to do with.

Diana starts the count, and he continues it. They say three together, and then they’re both airing the name out -- “Kal-El.”

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Bruce has no idea what to say despite thinking about this moment many times throughout his life. For some reason, he always thought he’d meet Diana and Kal-El at the same time.

Which reminds him that, shit, Clark is still right there, watching this moment that’s supposed to be private.

“Um,” he laughs, face bright red. “I don’t suppose now is a good time to mention that I also have the names Diana and Bruce? And that Clark is not my birth name?”

* * *

“So your name is Kal-El?” Dick asks, chin resting on a closed fist, his face the picture of innocence. Bruce can’t tell if it’s because he’s planning something, or because he’s still insecure about the whole “soulmate’s adopted son” thing. The fact that Diana is a mother obviously makes him feel better, but Clark is a wildcard.

A very kind wildcard. He nods, smiling easily, and says, “Yeah. But I go by Clark. It’s just easier for everyone.”

“Kal-El isn’t that hard to pronounce,” Donna counters from the other side of Dick. They’re all sitting now, with the kids in the middle, flanked by their parents. Clark must feel like he’s on trial, sitting between his soulmates and across from their children, though he doesn’t show it. “But I mean, if you prefer Clark, we can call you Clark.”

Dick nods emphatically. “Yeah, totally! Clark’s a really nice name. And I get it, ‘cause my name is Richard, but I don’t like being called that, so yeah, I understand. Clark.” Then he smiles, pleased with himself.

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. His son is too cute.

“Well, thank you. I’ll make sure not to call you Richard, then.”

“And don’t call me Donnie, please,” Donna says, nose scrunching up. “I hate that.”

“I think we can manage that.” Diana laughs, and Bruce can’t look away. “Though I think that’s enough talk of names for now.”

“If you’re about to, like, ask us how we feel about you three being a relationship,” Dick shrugs, “I don’t care. But shouldn’t you talk about it first?”

“Dick.”

“Like aren’t you moving sorta fast? You just met not even an _hour_ ago. I thought you were supposed to talk about it before you got with someone.”

“ _Dick_.”

“Though maybe I understand? ‘Cause you guys are soulmates, so maybe it’s different? Bruce, does this mean me and Koriand’r will have to get together as soon as we meet?”

“No, it doesn’t mean that, because we aren’t together.”

His face scrunches with confusion. “But I thought you guys are soulmates?”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean we’re jumping into anything. You’re right, we do need to talk first, before anything can be decided. But I should ask, would you and Donna be okay with that?”

“If you three were together?” Donna asks, glancing between the four other people at the table. When the adults nod, Diana confidently, Clark shyly, and Bruce straight-forward, she says, “I guess not. As long as Diana is happy, I will be too. But… would we have to live together? Would you be, like, my _dads_?”

Dick doesn’t like that idea, Bruce can tell. Before he can reassure the boy, though, Diana says, “That’s something we’d have to talk about. Would you like to be part of those conversations?”

After some thought, both kids nod.

“How long will you two be here in the states?” Bruce asks, thoughts whirring.

“School will start again in two weeks, and I would like to give Donna some time to adjust to the time difference beforehand. Though in the meantime, we have a home we can stay in, in upstate New York.”

“So there’ll be time to talk before you leave,” Clark surmises, gears turning in his head obviously. “I can probably get a day off--”

“Bruce.” Dick tugs on his sleeve, looking a little pale. He’s immediately on high alert, turning almost fully to the boy and paying no attention to the rest of the people at the table. “Alfred said something about making gingersnaps, didn’t he?”

Alfred hasn’t made gingersnaps in months, not since Christmastime, and has no plans to make more until next Christmas. Because it’s so rare, it makes for a good code -- _get me out of here_.

“He did, didn’t he?” Bruce checks his watch, discreetly pressing a button on the side that’ll summon Alfred. “Oh, it’s almost time to go. He should be on his way now.”

Dick doesn’t let go of his sleeve, though he does relax some. “You should get their numbers before we gotta leave,” he whispers loudly. The others laugh, but he does end up sharing his number with Diana and Clark.

They both seem a little disappointed he’s leaving so abruptly, but they don’t protest. Donna tries to engage Dick, but he can’t manage his usual enthusiasm.

“Why don’t we go use the restroom? It’s a long drive back,” he says, more for the others’ benefit than Dick’s, who takes the offer immediately. Again, he grabs his hand, and they make their way to the bathrooms. Thank god there’s no line.

Together, they go to a stall, and Bruce turns around, letting Dick take care of his business first. Neither of them speak as he finishes, and then switch places. It’s only when they’re washing their hands that Dick bumps his hip into Bruce’s leg. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s quite alright, lad. You come first, always.”

Dick hums, and goes off to dry his hands.

He can’t tell what it is this time. Is it because of Clark, who doesn’t have a child and is therefore probably not happy his soulmates have them? Is it because of what Donna said about _dads_ , which Dick already doesn’t like? Is it because of Koriand’r, their emotions transferring suddenly like they’re wont to do?

Sighing, he dries his hands. While he’s wiping them off, his phone buzzes, and without asking, Dick takes it out of his pocket. “Alfie says he’s outside.”

“Alright, let’s go then. Let’s say bye first, though.”

Anxiety tightens the corners of his son’s mouth, but he agrees. They walk hand-in-hand back to the table, where Donna is regaling Clark with a story about her pet horse. Clark looks thoroughly interested, which he hopes Dick takes notice of. If that’s even the issue here.

“We’ll be leaving now, but we thought we should say goodbye first. It was very nice to meet all of you, and I hope we can talk again soon.”

“Definitely,” Clark says, smiling wide. Damn, Bruce thinks faintly. He’s so pretty. “Have a good night, boys.”

“Thank you,” Dick replies, “You too. Goodnight, Diana. Goodnight, Donna.”

Donna waves excitedly. Diana says, “Goodnight, dear.”

Bruce forgoes his own goodnights with a smile, and then ushers his son out. Alfred is waiting right by the curb, so they slide in with no problems. Soon enough, they’re on their way home, shaking off their public personas happily.

Pressed close, Dick watches Gotham pass by out the front window.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks lowly.

“Kory’s really sad and scared,” he whispers back, upset but not sounding like he’s going to cry. “And I don’t want dads. Or another mom.”

“Okay. You don’t have to have anything you don’t want.”

“What about brussel sprouts?”

“Okay, you have to have those, but you knew that, Dickiebird. I meant, you don’t have to have any parents you don’t want. No one will ever replace your Mama and Dati, not even me. Clark and Diana… if we get together, they might feel or act like they’re your parents, but they won’t be, unless you want them to.”

“But what if they really want to?” His eyebrows furrow, troubled.

Bruce very pointedly does not think about the fact that _he_ really wants to be considered Dick’s dad by the boy himself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s up to you.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s time before we have to worry about this, anyway, lad, if we have to at all. But if you want to talk about it again, I’m here, okay?”

“Yeah.”

They’re silent for a while, Alfred meeting Bruce’s eyes in the mirror several times. He tries to convey that Dick’ll be fine, but he’s not sure how well he manages.

“Donna was nice.”

“She was.”

“She lives in Paris and has a bunch of pets named after the Greek gods and she speaks, like, a hundred languages, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“She’s twelve, and she’s not really Diana’s daughter. She was adopted, too, but it’s different ‘cause Diana is her half-sister.”

“They do look pretty similar.”

“Yeah. She said I looked like you, and when I said I was adopted, she shrugged and said it didn’t matter.”

“Does it?”

“Does what?”

“Does it matter?”

“That I was adopted?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Dick thinks about it for a long time. So long, he thinks he won’t get an answer. But then the boy, always surprising him, shuts his eyes and turns his face into his chest. “No. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Me either,” Bruce says, wrapping an arm around him. After a few minutes, he asks, “Is Koriand’r alright?”

His only response is a quiet snore.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s concern is quiet but no less tangible for it.

“Thank you for coming and picking us up.”

He ignores him. It’s unspoken, but they both know he’ll always come for them. “What happened tonight?”

“I met my soulmates, and Dick got a little upset about a few things, evidently.”

“Oh my…. Shall I prepare a drink in your study, sir, or will you be going out tonight?”

A voice that sounds a lot like Alfred’s tells him it’s been too long since they had a night off. Plus, he could really use a drink. Something stronger than the champagne.

“The strongest whiskey we have, please.”

“Master Bruce….”

“If you’re going to insist I talk about what I’m feeling, can it wait until tomorrow at least?”

Pulling onto the road that leads to the Manor, Alfred sighs. “Very well, sir. Tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
